


you look down, but far from out.

by foibles_fables



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Missing Scene, s01e08: Proverbs 14:1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foibles_fables/pseuds/foibles_fables
Summary: Every bit of science that’s been worth its salt began by wondering about something odd. And science is Jillian’s business.An observation, a fragile understanding, and a conversation leading to a non-confession (andmore). Missing scene from 1.08, "Proverbs 14:1."
Comments: 37
Kudos: 106





	you look down, but far from out.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some Jillian Salvius content literally nobody asked for!!! I'm admittedly not sure what this is, and I wrote it in the car between two social engagements today, but...here you go, AO3.
> 
> Title: "IRO-Bot" by Coheed and Cambria

The girl piques Jillian Salvius’s curiosity almost immediately.

Because that’s what she is, beneath the habit and the veil: just a girl, a young woman. So young, too young to be ensconced in any sort of lifelong vows. Young enough for Jillian to wonder if it was motion or inertia that sent her into this role. There’s always more - there’s always a simpler explanation for something so ridiculous. But Jillian’s biases and conceptions have no bearing on her interest in this particular nun. It simply exists, drawing on her attention in an odd way.

But every bit of science that’s been worth its salt began by wondering about something odd. And science is Jillian’s business.

So it follows the method, then. Observation, analysis. Watching the patterns emerge and repeat, even over a brief period of time. Applying previous knowledge to some new unknown. Seeing each aspect of the oddity arrange itself in a way that forms some semblance of sense.

It doesn’t take long at all for these patterns to unfurl in the frame of Jillian’s perception.

She’s smart. As a whip. Incredibly so, obviously so. The constant overturning of graduate students and lab assistants, ranging from bumbling dopes to brilliant collaborators, has given Jillian plenty of basis for this judgement. This one’s intelligence is apparent in the way she speaks. Her words are elegant without effort, marked by the seamless use of terms another might not put together with such ease. The very first thing she had said had been that way: _we’ll also need bricks to construct solid barriers of various thickness, four to twenty feet_. A complex sentence made matter-of-fact, descriptive yet succinct, commanding the room with its thorough clarity.

Jillian provides the bricks.

Ask, and it shall be given to you. Jillian knows what’s written in the Gospels, but the meanings are circumspect - just flawed words scrawled in thirdhand Greek, a hundred years removed from their described events. No, simply asking doesn’t guarantee receiving. Most times, one must choose to taste of the fruit, to gain that forbidden wisdom for oneself.

And through her short but practiced observation, Jillian might see a hint of a serpent creeping in the edges of the young woman’s awareness. The threat of questions. She’s too smart not to feel them, but she would certainly be afraid of them. Fingertips itching for a poison apple. There’s this tense contention shrouded by reticence, there’s a pushing away of something she wants kept in the dark. A worldview beginning to rock, tilted by outside forces. Something to be afraid of. A struggle, a murk of burning sadness, sublimated in broad practicality, meticulous piety, and carefully-folded hands. Jillian sees all of this because she is no stranger to sublimation - though her own has been cast in a wildly different direction. Lab coat and goggles in place of the scapular and cowl.

And therein lies the rational explanation for Jillian’s seemingly-irrational interested wonderings. Every question becomes simpler as it’s broken down.

Jillian sees other trajectories reflected in those guarded eyes.

In another life, with a different way of pursuing answers to all of those daunting questions, this young nun could have been any of the twentysomethings working at Arq-Tech. Wide-eyed and sharp, meticulous and thorough, discovering the secrets of the world that surrounds them. In another life, she could have eventually been Jillian Salvius herself.

In another life, with just a few different choices, a few bold questions not asked and pursued, Jillian Salvius could have been _her_.

Something in that conclusion rattles Jillian’s bones. The most powerful conclusions tend to do that.

And that’s why she listens when the young nun speaks to her.

Jillian had entered the library, hoping to find an old lab notebook, but instead finding that she and Ava had returned to the room. It’s not surprising to see them there, but the cautious but resolute spark that flares in the nun’s eyes does, just a bit.

“Dr. Salvius.” Hushed voice, because Ava is dozing on the library sofa, exhausted from hours and hours of wading through concrete. As she speaks, there are calculations running behind her gaze. “If I could have a word?”

Jillian takes appraisal with a blink and a single nod, then gestures to the door left open behind her. Leaving Ava in quiet, they go no further than the hallway directly outside.

“Let me guess. More bricks, Sister…?”

“Beatrice,” she finishes for Jillian with a nod of her own. “And, no. More bricks won’t be necessary. I don’t think Ava would be appreciative of it.”

“Then what can I help with?”

“Nothing, truly.” She shakes her head, holding up a single hand. “You’ve already done so much to aid us, even above and beyond the original scope of our requests. That’s why I wanted to speak to you - I wanted to make sure our gratitude was spoken aloud, in no uncertain terms.”

A leader, too, with a golden tongue. Just another similarity to cast into the pile.

“I appreciate the gratitude.” Jillian raises an eyebrow. “But you're aware, of course, that this is a _quid pro quo_ situation, Sister Beatrice. This isn’t a concession to or even promise of cooperation with your order.”

“Of course.” A measured smile, just a quirk of her mouth. “But the thanks are also deserved. Given our convoluted circumstances, many in your position wouldn’t be quite so accommodating toward us.”

Jillian clicks her tongue. “As I said, _quid pro quo._ I want those bones.”

“Regardless,” Beatrice says on the end of a contemplative sigh, “your generosity has been considerable. And it has given me pause, along with the frame of mind to give _you_ something owed to you.”

“And what’s that?”

“An admission.”

It’s not specific, but that’s probably on purpose **.** “Regarding?”

“The Shield of Faith.” Their eyes meet, and Beatrice’s are steady. “I believe you’re owed some closure.”

Yet another interesting occurrence. Who knew so many would manifest today? “Go on.”

Beatrice narrows her eyes, still unwavering, and it’s evident that she’s weighed every ounce of this action.

“If you review the security footage from the night it was taken-” (and here she pauses, just for a moment, with a look that promises no shame, and a deliberate choice to say _taken_ , not _stolen_ ) “-you will see my face obscured by chain mail.”

Another pause, this one of Jillian’s design.

“I see.”

There’s not much else to say. The infamous petite member of the clergy, in the flesh. Jillian crosses her arms and expects anger. Expects indignation. None comes. And the strange stalemate only lasts a second more, because the young woman has more she’s prepared to divulge.

“I don’t regret my actions.” That much is apparent by how her chin is held, angled just slightly up. “And while my conscience is clear, it is also telling me that, in your kindness, you deserve to know. I may never understand or agree with your methods and paradigm, but you are certainly dedicated to them.”

“As dedicated as you are to yours,” Jillian might half-agree, voice as carefully controlled as the nun’s.

“And I think we both see the value in dedication, for its own sake.”

“You’re not incorrect.” No, Beatrice is smart. As a whip.

Because Dr. Salvius and Sister Beatrice might never agree. They might actively campaign against one another’s central dogmas, in some arenas. They might be on two very separate paths - paths that did not have to have been quite so separate.

But they are also the same, in the words. In the eyes. In the questions. One has simply avoided what the other fully embraced. They linger in the silence, both the questions and the women.

It’s broken when Jillian speaks.

“You say this isn’t a confession. Irrespective of the intentions, I will tell you that, in my world, absolution is granted through action. Not three paltry Hail Marys.” Jillian hardens her jaw, hardens her eyes, steadies every part of herself. “The bones, Beatrice.” Her title left off, deliberately. “ _Quid pro quo._ Bring me the bones, and all will be considered right.”

And then, an enigmatic little grin crosses Beatrice’s face.

“Our worlds are not so dissimilar in that respect, Dr. Salvius.”

“Jillian, please.”

A nod. “Jillian." Another title abandoned. "We will hold up our end of the bargain.”

“I can only trust that you’re speaking in truth.” A virtue lost along the way. “If that’s all?”

Another nod and Beatrice turns toward the library door.

Something inside of Jillian rears up, reaches out. Driven by pride and by preconception, driven by that connection, driven the need to reassure. There’s always more, there's more for her. She needs to know that.

“Beatrice.”

“Jillian.” Only slightly confused, as though she had been expecting an addendum.

Jillian looks at her, looks past the habit, past the veil. Looks at the girl. Looks at the girl trying to hide questions in the shadows, trying to hide her soul from some deep sadness.

Jillian can see it because she’s felt it all before.

“The world is vast and full of mysteries. The answers to any question - even yours - can be found in so many varied and interesting ways.” Jillian gives her a pointed look and hopes it means something, hopes it counts, hopes it’s heard in the way of its intent. “And there are plenty of spaces for you within it.”

It’s her own agenda. But it’s also a truth; it’s Jillian's truth. The truth she lived, once.

And just for an instant, that deep melancholy swells in Beatrice’s eyes on the tails of confusion. And only for that one instant, before it’s covered once again by a slow nod and an expression of guarded reserve. But Jillian is an expert at observing instants.

Beatrice turns, then, and disappears through the library door. Out of sight, out of reach.

But the connection has already been noted.


End file.
